


For Our Sons

by glorafin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hogwarts, M/M, Next Generation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 06:11:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorafin/pseuds/glorafin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Almost twenty-five years after the end of the War, the sons of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are attending Hogwarts, eager to get out of their fathers' shadows. </p><p>Just to be clear : the Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter relationship mentioned in the header is romantic in nature. The Harry/Draco one probably won't be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This new version has been in the pipelines for years and benefited greatly from the precious advice of calanthe_fics, girl_in_stripes , saylee, rdwind and especially emansil_08, Thanks to all. Everything you don't like or think could be better in this story is probably a consequence of my not following one of their numerous pieces of advice. Constructive criticism is always welcome, especially for grammar or spelling mistakes.

Harry Potter had every right to be relieved, the day Voldemort finally died. From then on, he would be able to put that whole Boy-Who-Lived curse behind him. Without the weight of a prophecy promising certain death as the only conceivable horizon, he was free to live his life as he chose, far from people’s expectations, free to find love, have children, then proudly watch them grow and fully realise their potential. He had earned his right to peace, happiness and anonymity, and no one, neither friend nor foe, was going to deprive him of it.  
  
Draco Malfoy's feelings were understandably mixed, the day the Dark Lord was defeated. On one hand, the life he had always known was being snatched away from him. Everything he had been raised to believe had crumbled to dust and his future had taken the form of a terrifying interrogation mark. Whatever was going to happen to him from now on, he would have to face without back-up, hoping courage and perseverance would be enough to see him through to a point in his life where he could find some kind of inner peace. Hoping for anything more would be foolish. But on the other hand, he was free. He no longer had pre-established paths to follow, family loyalties to abide to. He no longer needed to pretend to fight for a cause he had long ceased to believe in just because it was the only way he and his parents could hope to see another day. Whatever the future had in store, it was bound to be better than that.

 

  
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

 

  
This story begins almost twenty-five years after Voldemort’s death. It is centred on two fathers and two sons. Through these characters’ memories, thoughts, words and actions, the reader will be given a glimpse of how things turned out after the War. The hopes and fears of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy after the Great Battle of Hogwarts might seem far away now, like distant memories of an irrelevant past, but all contributed to shaping their lives and making them the fathers they are now, which in turn allowed their sons to find one another.

Some might complain that nothing much happens in this story. It’s easy to think that only by actions can one change the world, for better or for worse. And indeed both Harry and Draco had good reasons to believe it in their teenage years, because theirs was a troubled time, a time for decisive action and courage.

Fortunately, newer generations can sometimes benefit from the victories of the previous ones. This is the situation we find ourselves in as this story begins. It contains no arch-villains; there is no political intrigue at the highest level, no fight to the death against the forces of injustice and oppression. These characters’ actions are not awe-inspiring feats of bravery and determination, their struggles are mostly internal, and when conflicts arise, they usually don’t stem from evil intent and can be resolved by negotiation and mutual understanding.

Sure, it’s not glamorous, but do these characters you’re going to read about live less of a life because of it? To believe so would amount to throwing away the legacy of their mothers and fathers. These individuals suffer, cry, laugh, love and dream just the same as anyone else. They live their life every bit as intensely as King Arthur, Merlin, Dumbledore or a young Harry Potter lived their never-forgotten hours of glory.

Besides, it can take more courage to make the choice of baring your most private thoughts and dreams to someone you care about than to go to war when there is nothing else left to do.

This is a story about courage.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter only one day after Book 7 came out, as a natural follow-up to the epilogue and as an introduction to the story I wanted to tell. Constructive criticism and remarks about spelling and/or grammar are more than welcome.

_Thursday, the 13th of May 2022, Harry’s bedroom_  
  
Shortly after 10am, Harry Potter, 'The Reluctant War Hero', as the Daily Prophet had long stopped calling him, woke to the increasingly unusual sound of an owl scratching at his bedroom window.

Most houses still had owleries, of course, but they were used less and less frequently as Floo mail was gaining in popularity, despite relentless lobbying from owl breeders, who published almost weekly full-page ads in the _Prophet,_ complaining about the apparition of this needlessly complicated means of communication. Their arguments were not entirely without merit. Sending Floo messages did require enchanting paper and ink with some fairly convoluted spells, but those had been introduced into the Hogwarts curriculum a few years earlier and young witches and wizards now used them without a second thought. Most older people, however, hadn’t bothered learning them and still routinely sent their mail by owl. So, these days, an owl often meant news from an older relative, or official documents since the thousands of delivery owls owned by the Ministry of Magic had to be somehow occupied.  
   
When Harry unfastened the scroll and saw the seal of Hogwarts, he thought with a smile that it was in fact a bit of both. Ever since the end of the War, he had considered Headmistress McGonagall a surrogate grandmother and was always happy to hear from her. In fact, repeatedly turning down her offers for a teaching job had felt like some sort of family betrayal. But what else could he have done during those few years after the War? He felt like he barely had time to take care of himself.

 

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

  
Harry was seventeen when the final battle at Hogwarts cemented his status as a national hero. While he only wanted to be left alone to mourn his friends and get over the guilt he felt for their deaths, the whole country was celebrating. Wizards all across Britain wanted to see him in person, kiss him or shake his hands to tell him how grateful they were and the Ministry was quite adamant they should be able to. So, afraid of appearing selfish or arrogant, Harry was reluctantly putting up with a never-ending string of Ministry-organized parades and meetings, as awkward as those often were.  
  
It meant that, a few months - years even - after Voldemort's demise, Harry was still stuck in the War's aftermath. Both in his mind, where past events were always at the forefront of his thoughts, and in the outside world, where he was endlessly asked to attend this charity ball for the rebuilding of Hogwarts or that Ministry meeting about new policies.   
  
To be fair, many wizards were in a similar position at the time, working tirelessly for the Ministry of Magic. The task of rebuilding a whole society after a few months of the destructive Voldemort-inspired regime of Minister Thicknesse was enormous. Old laws had to be overturned and new ones written. Official buildings, schools, houses and shops had to be repaired or rebuilt. In addition, there was a general consensus that trials would have to be held and justice to be served before the wizarding society could have any chance to go back to normal. Many Ministry employees, professors or journalists, basically anyone who had been in a position of power during the War, had been suspended and their actions thoroughly investigated. It led to a serious shortage of personnel for a few years, which meant that, out of necessity, almost everyone had ended up participating in the Ministry-led reconstruction effort.  
  
At the same time, new ties had to be created between the Magical and the Muggle worlds, which was where Ron had found his niche. As the new head of the Muggle Liaison Bureau, he was, to the great joy of his father, the first wizard whose job required a Muggle car. During one of his numerous stays in the Muggle world, Harry even saw him, wearing an elegant grey suit and a tie, enter Number 10 during a television report on the BBC Ten O'Clock News, being presented by journalist Andrew Marr as a "close collaborator of the prime minister".

 

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

  
When Harry turned twenty-three, Ginny and he decided to move in together and start a family. Raising his first child James then became the perfect excuse for being exempted from attending those tiresome public appearances but, with Ginny devoting herself to her budding Quidditch career and leaving him most of the housework, Harry didn’t feel at first like he had much time to find out what he wanted to do with his life.  
  
So, when he finally felt settled enough to start thinking about his future, he was well into his twenties and quickly realized the opportunity to pursue the one career he’d have really loved, professional Quidditch player, had passed him by. His feel of the game was a sharp as ever, but his reflexes had been blunted by lack of practice. Of course, most teams in the Professional League still offered him a position as a substitute Seeker, if only for publicity's sake, but their managers also told him he would not be a member of the starting line-up for the most important matches. So he declined their offers.  
   
Many thought Harry's past would have led him to choose a career as an Auror, but after all he had been through during the war, Harry wasn’t that keen on the idea. He felt he had risked his life enough times as a teenager not to do it again as an adult, especially now he had responsibilities as a husband and a father.  
  
Having discarded those two most obvious career paths, Harry was at a loss to find another one. Over the years there were a few half-hearted attempts at coaching Quidditch at junior level, or giving evening classes about defensive magic, but it quickly became obvious that the young wannabe players or paranoid middle-aged witches he reached in doing so were more interested in who he was than in what he could teach them.  
  
So he eventually made peace with the idea of being a stay-at-home dad. In retrospect, it was not a bad decision. His three children, James, Albus Severus and Lily, and his godson, Teddy, were his pride and joy and he was glad to be available at all times to take care of them, to be for them the constant loving presence his own father and mother had not been allowed to be for him. Most of his friends understood that choice well enough and were even secretly thankful, as Harry was a perfect and almost always willing baby-sitter.  
  
As long as Harry had children to take care of, he was genuinely quite content with his life, although Ginny was less than pleased. She would probably vehemently deny it but she had never totally got over her hero worship and she couldn't help thinking that there was something inherently wrong with the great Harry Potter staying at home with his children, doing nothing of worth. His developing pot belly in particular infuriated her.  
  
While Lily was living with them full time, before she got her first Hogwarts letter, Ginny put up with it. After their youngest left for school though, when only the two of them remained in their big house and Harry still seemed unwilling to do anything more with his life than wait for his children to come back for the school holidays, things really started to get sour between the two of them.  
  
In order to escape the ever mounting tension at home, Harry started making repeated trips into the Muggle world, craving the liberating anonymity he could keep there. He was even offered a part-time job as a waiter in a West End pub after preventing a whole tray of glasses from crashing into the ground; seemingly by sheer reflex but actually by the instinctive casting of a wandless cushioning charm.  
  
The landlady wasn’t forcing him to follow a rigid timetable and he was basically free to pop in whenever he felt like it. She was all too happy to get an extra pair of hands to relieve her of some of her tasks and Harry didn't mind being grossly underpaid. The atmosphere was relaxed and he enjoyed attending customers, calling them 'love' or 'mate'.  
   
Hermione often ate lunch at the pub, sometimes just to keep him company, other times because Ron had entrusted her with some unofficial day-long mission in Muggle London. Sadly, she was the only one to do so. Harry often asked Ginny to accompany him. He wanted her to see why he needed these times off, away from his fame and the responsibilities that sometimes went with it, but she never agreed. She said she felt awkward when interacting with Muggles, never quite knowing how to blend in.  
  
As married life went, it was far from ideal, and over the course of a few years, they grew increasingly apart. It finally got to the point that Ginny felt she had to give him an ultimatum: either he stopped living part-time as a Muggle and tried to salvage their marriage or she was gone. It was when Harry surprised himself by giving it some thought that he knew it would probably be for the best. He didn't love her the way he used to and she didn’t love him the way he needed to be loved at this point in his life. He also didn't like the fact that she had once or twice complained about the exclusive attention Harry gave to his children when the whole family was together at home. For Harry nothing was more important than looking after his children. For his own wife to resent him for it on some level had been a bit of a shock.  
  
Lily was fourteen, Albus sixteen and James was almost out of Hogwarts. They would all understand. Besides, despite their progressive estrangement, Harry and Ginny got along well enough and an amicable separation now was better than a messy one in a few years. Ginny's ultimatum had been given without any real animosity, and although Harry answered it with sadness, he felt no regrets. He had no doubt that separating was the best way to ensure their friendship would survive. And it did. Mostly.

 

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

  
So, on that day an owl scratching at the window woke him up, Harry was 42. He had been living on his own for a few weeks and was alone in his bed to read McGonagall's owl.  
   
 _Dear Harry,_  
  
 _I hope this letter finds you in good health. I have some matters to discuss regarding your son Albus. It's nothing serious but I'd like to get your advice on how I should proceed. Could you please pass on this invitation to Ginevra and meet me in my office this Sunday afternoon at 4? I trust you remember the way._  
  
 _With much affection._  
 _~~Headmistress McGonagall~~ Minerva_  
   
Putting the letter down on the sheets, Harry wondered what on Earth those matters could be. Albus had been home for the Christmas holidays and Harry had noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Of course, he was as quiet as ever, but Harry knew that didn’t mean he was unhappy. That was just the way Albus was most of the time and they’d all become accustomed to it. Should they have been worried? Had his silence and shyness been the manifestation of some underlying problem that had come to a head this semester? Or had he done something stupid at school, for which he had to be punished?  
  
Finding it hard to believe either scenario, Harry thought for a while about asking Ginny to come back from her promotional tour in Germany with the Harpies. She had always been better at disciplining the children than he was. But he eventually rejected the idea. As head of public relations, Ginny had been organizing that tour for almost a year. She said many times it was hugely important for the team’s future, and her leaving would almost certainly mean it would have to be cut short. It was probably better if he went alone to the meeting to see what it was all about. Then, if need arose, he could still floo her and ask for her input on how to react. There was no point in alarming her now if it was nothing serious.  
  
His decision made, Harry wrote a quick note to confirm he would be there alone, then dressed and got on with his day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This new version has been in the pipelines for years and benefited greatly from the precious advice of calanthe_fics , girl_in_stripes , saylee , rdwind and especially emansil_08 , Thanks to all. Everything you don't like or think could be better in this story is probably a consequence of my not following one of their numerous pieces of advice. Constructive criticism is always welcome, especially for grammar or spelling mistakes.

  
_Thursday, the 13th of May 2022, Harry’s living-room_

 

When, around 4pm, the annoying metallic sound that wizards had ended up associating with floo-mail disturbed the silence of the house, Harry’s concentrated frown morphed briefly into an annoyed scowl. He didn’t like being interrupted when composing his weekly letter to Lily, the only one of his children who still wanted him to write or, more accurately, the only one who had yet to muster the courage to tell him that, at fourteen, receiving his weekly owls in front of all her friends at breakfast was starting to get embarrassing.

Harry cherished those few minutes every week when, quill in hand, he could fool himself into believing that one of his children still needed weekly reminders of his love. So he made a point of finishing his letter first, only standing up to get hold of the neatly folded parchment waiting for him in a little urn on the mantelpiece after sending his own.

His eyebrows rose slightly when he saw it was a letter from Draco Malfoy. Harry hadn't thought much about the Malfoys in recent years, although their joint trial a few months after Voldemort's death had made a lasting impression on him.  
 

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

  
It was late October 1999, a Friday. The main court room of the Wizengamot was almost deserted. The explosiveness of the Ministry wrong-doings Lucius could potentially reveal had ensured that the hearings were closed to the public. Only a handful of Aurors and key witnesses, including Harry, were allowed to be there.

The first case to be addressed was Narcissa's. The Wizengamot explained at length that Narcissa had stood by her husband for thirty years, aware of the evil nature of his actions and doing nothing to stop him, so in essence condoning them. As she hadn't personally been guilty of any actual crimes, the judges were nevertheless prepared to let her get away with only a few months in the now Dementor-free Azkaban. She would probably have been happy with that outcome but Harry's testimony on how Narcissa’s confirming his death had been instrumental in his vanquishing Voldemort got the sentence to be further reduced.

She ended up getting a lifetime wand monitoring and tracking spell, as well as 500 hours of community service, which was the lowest sentencing adult wizards could get in those cases. Famously, she would spend those hours hosting summer parties for Muggle-born wizards in Malfoy Manor.

The success of those parties and Narcissa's willingness to extend them beyond the end of her sentencing would do much for getting the Malfoy name back in favour with the general public.

Draco's case was trickier. Nobody knew for sure if he had actually been a full-blown Death Eater or just a child aiming to please his father. As some of the most recent marks had disappeared from their bearers' forearms when Voldemort died, his Dark Mark status was unclear and no living witness remained to shed a light on this key point. So the final decision on the day was once again mostly down to Harry's testimony.

He told the Wizengamot that his gut instinct was that Draco has been marked. But he also told how Draco had refused to identify him or his friends outright when they were held prisoner in Malfoy Manor, and how Draco had tried to prevent Crabbe and Goyle from killing him on sight in the Room of Requirement. Most importantly, he told the judges how Draco had been unable to kill Dumbledore on the top of the Tower the year before, and had seemed on the verge of accepting his offer of protection.

At that point, Harry realized he was actively taking the role of a defence witness for someone who had for many years done everything he could to make his and his friends' lives miserable. It probably made him feel a bit weird because, after a few seconds of silence, he rushed into a two-minute rant about how Draco was certainly a partisan of pure-blood supremacy, mentioning a few of his past misdeeds towards him or Hermione. One of the judges even had to remind him that having political opinions was not a crime and that school rivalries were not supposed to get settled in court, where only hard facts about actual crimes could be taken into account. He added that Draco's actions as a child, as distasteful as they might have been, were not relevant to the current trial.

Feeling like a naughty child being unfairly scolded, Harry was on the verge of protesting when a meaningful look and a shake of the head from Kingsley made him stop. So he mumblingly apologized to the judges before looking at Draco and saying, "It might not be relevant from the Wizengamot’s point of view, but I needed to get that off my chest, and I’m glad you were there to hear it."

Then he surprised himself, and most observers, by adding, "But that doesn’t affect my previous statements. I didn’t save your life twice during the last battle just so you could spend it rotting away in Azkaban."

Looking at the judges again, he ended his testimony by saying that he'd find it fitting if Draco was asked to write a public apology to all those who suffered from his behaviour at school and elsewhere. When the judge dismissed him, Harry looked straight into Draco’s eyes for a few seconds, before Draco slowly nodded at him, silently agreeing to his demand. Only then did Harry leave the witness box and go back to his bench.

After a lengthy debate, the Wizengamot gave Draco roughly the same sentence as his mother's, with an added compulsory three-year immersion as a student in a Muggle university. It was a standard decision for young Death-Eater sympathisers, and one that experience would show to be very successful in modifying their views.

Still, as intense as they had been, Narcissa’s and Draco's trials didn't affect Harry as Lucius's had. At Hogwarts, he had often heard Draco boasting about the nobility and poise that came naturally with old pure-blood families. He had always derided that claim as utter bollocks. Most old pure-blood families were, as far as he could tell, snivelling, in-bred, stuck-up, double-faced bastards, with all the nobility and poise of rotten cabbage. Still, when he saw Lucius regally hold his hand up at the beginning of his trial and ask if he could say a few words before the legal proceedings began, he was awed despite himself and felt a shiver cascading down his spine.

“Seeing that my wife and my son were spared the worst during this trial, I have decided to plead guilty to all charges that could be brought against me. There's no denying that I have been working closely with the Dark Lord for the last twenty-five years and cast numerous Unforgivables during that time. I am willing to give the Wizengamot my full cooperation in listing my crimes and those of others and will testify if needed for the trials of other Death-Eaters.

“I will give Aurors relevant information so they can seize all the Dark artefacts my estate still contains. I'm also willing to give generous financial compensation to all those who can prove to have been directly wronged by my actions. All I ask in return is for my sentencing not to be lenient. Nothing less than my death would in time allow the stain currently sullying the name of the Malfoy line to fade, and Draco to regain his rightful place in our society. So I accept the necessity of it.”

Then, after a last look to his son and his wife, he sat down.

Harry couldn’t help being impressed, and judging by the silence in the court room, he wasn’t the only one. It took several moments of silent deliberation before the judges could decide how to proceed next. After a glance to his colleagues and their replying nods, the head of the Wizengamot simply chose to close the case. There was nothing to add.

In the following months, Lucius' cooperation was indeed the main force, albeit a hidden one, behind the de-Voldemortization of the wizarding community. At the end of that process, he welcomed death calmly and alone, as he promised he would.

Invoking the need for completing his education, Draco managed to delay the beginning of his forced stay among Muggles and took a few months to go through the entire seventh year curriculum in Potions and Herbology. Then he left to live among Muggles for three years. Rumours were that he came back with a Muggle wife and a devouring passion for cricket.

A few months after his return, Draco opened a Potions shop, which was doing solid, though not great, business. Draco didn't have to worry about the moderate size of his earnings though. He had opened that shop because he liked brewing, not because he needed money to make ends meet. The Malfoy fortune had hardly been dented by Lucius' compensation payments.

From then on, Harry would hear very little about the Malfoys, but after witnessing how Lucius had made sure the prestige of his name could survive him, Harry was convinced that neither Draco nor Narcissa would ever be a threat again to wizarding society. The natural affinity of the Malfoys with the Dark Arts might possibly surface again but it wouldn't be during their lifetime.

The next 20 years would prove him right.

 

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

 

  
While unfolding the parchment, Harry wondered what could possibly have happened for Draco to actively contact him. Although they never actually talked, Harry had seen him in passing a few times during the last twenty years. Each time, Harry had acknowledged him with a look and Draco had answered him by a curt nod, as a repeat of their short interaction at the trial. It was enough to convey their respective opinions. Harry's look actually meant "You are here because I allowed it. So far, I have no reason to regret it." Draco's answering gesture said "I am perfectly aware of that and I'll make sure you never have to." It was a comfortable situation for both of them, and Harry was afraid that fragile balance of gratefulness and magnanimity was about to get destroyed by the elegantly written message he held in his hands.

 

  
_Mr and Mrs Potter,_

_I am sending you this letter because I have reasons to believe that Headmistress McGonagall has contacted you to arrange a meeting this Sunday afternoon at Hogwarts. If not, I apologise and ask you to please disregard the rest of this message._

_But if you did receive such a convocation, I would like to inform you that I was sent a similar one._

_I do not know whether the Headmistress told you why she wanted to see you but, after the long talk I had with my son Scorpius earlier today, I do have a pretty good idea and believe it would be in our best interests to discuss it before meeting the Headmistress. As Mr Potter is known to dislike apparating and floo transportation, may I suggest for the both of you to board the Hogwarts Express at King’s Cross on Sunday morning with me? The trip would be, I hope, time enough for me to inform you of the facts and then hopefully for us to reach an agreement on how to respond to them._

_I hope to receive your answer promptly so that arrangements can be made._

_Gratefully yours,_   
_Draco Malfoy._

 

  
Harry didn't quite know what to make of this request. Albus had mentioned Scorpius Malfoy a few times in the past, usually to say that they were friends and that James should stop antagonizing him, a suggestion Harry had actually backed. However, things had seemed to smooth themselves over recently. Judging from the latest developments, they might not have, not completely in any case.

Was there still some residual tension between his children and Draco’s son? Did a fight erupt and was that why Minerva had asked them to meet her? All kinds of unpleasant hypotheses rushed into Harry’s mind. So he wrote a quick note to let Draco know that he'd be meeting him on the platform at 9am on Sunday and that his now ex-wife would be unable to accompany him.


	4. Chapter 4

_Saturday night, the 15th of May 2022, Hogwarts_

 

 

Moonlight was forging oddly-shaped shadows on the walls. Barely a sound could be heard. It had been a long day for pupils, professors and ghosts alike. Even Peeves seemed reluctant to disturb the peace of this cloudless and windless night.

A few minutes before midnight, the door of the Slytherin common room opened with a light creak. A teenager, hood carefully lowered before his eyes, slid out and began walking hastily toward the stairs. Although he did everything he could to muffle the sound of his steps, each one reverberated on the stone walls like a tiny explosion of noise. He was alternately looking forward and backward, ready to hide in a dark corner at the faintest sign that he was not alone. After a few minutes of climbing stairs and following scarcely lit corridors, he arrived at the top of the Astronomy Tower.

It was surprisingly deserted. The caretaker had probably just made his round there, scaring the kissing couples away and forcing them back into their dormitories.

It was said among older students that a tolerance policy about being in the Astronomy Tower after curfew had long been observed. Even Filch, the old caretaker his father had told him about, was rumoured to have gone there only when nearing exams made it imperative for students to get a full night’s sleep. Sadly, Filch was long gone and if that unspoken policy was still in force, Atkinson, the new caretaker, had obviously not been told. On the contrary, he seemed to take pleasure in disrupting romantic meetings between students, as if those felt to him like personal insults. It hadn’t taken long for nasty rumours to appear about why Atkinson seemed to resent other people’s love lives so strongly.

Sitting down and making himself comfortable in a corner, the teenager reached into his robe pocket for a rumpled piece of parchment.  
  
 _“We need to talk.... Meet me tonight after curfew at the Astronomy Tower. Albus.”_

Reading these words for the hundredth time was not lessening his worries. Why hadn't Albus signed AS, as he had done in all the notes they had exchanged for the last year or so? Did he lose his right to informality? Were they still even friends?

 

Everything had started going downhill four days ago.

 

 

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

_Tuesday, the 11th of May 2022, an unused classroom in the Divination Tower._

The whole day had been an endless string of lessons, each as boring as the next, crammed full with last-minute revisions. Fed up with work, Scorpius and Albus were spending their allocated after-dinner study time in the room which had served as their secret hideaway since the beginning of the year.

The place didn’t look like much. The walls were bare, the windows not nearly as transparent as they should, and the floor was so dusty it seemed safe to assume it hadn’t been walked on by anyone but them since the Founders’ time, although an old dilapidated couch in the corner seemed to imply that someone must have once entered the room, if only to dump it there. As miserable as that couch looked, with his threadbare cloth whose colour was so bland no one had ever bothered to find a word for it, it was soft and comfortable, which was the reason why they kept meeting there. A cosy place to sit and relax without being disturbed was a rare commodity, and one whose existence was to be kept as secret as possible from others.

Once on the couch, they had automatically reverted to their usual position: one of them (this time it was Albus) sitting upright in one corner of the couch and the other leaning against his chest. They had never questioned that arrangement. Although they never quite knew where to put their hands, sitting like this felt right, the close contact sealing a tacit agreement that one would be able to tell the other anything without being judged for it.

One might wonder what would happen if someone was to enter the room and see them like this. Would they feel embarrassed and automatically separate? Would they stay exactly as they were, not seeing anything strange about the way one was almost cuddling the other? Who knows? They never talked about it, and no one had ever walked on them and put it to the test. Sometimes readers need to accept unanswered questions. The intricacies of teenage friendships can only be truly understood by those who live them.

 

They were chatting about Quidditch, with the easy familiarity that always came when it was just the two of them. They both agreed Hufflepuff was an almost certain bet for the Cup that year, despite what their parents had told them about Hufflepuff’s track record. The Wood twins were a class apart from all the other players, handling the Quaffle as if it was just another body part. It was common knowledge that scouts from professional teams were already gathering around them like bees around a honeycomb.

“Or like girls around Anthony”, joked Albus, as a segue into another one of their favourite subjects.

Indeed, no conversation of any length between them could be complete without a few minutes of poking fun at Anthony Finch-Fletchley, a blondish Hufflepuff boy who seemed to compensate for his striking good looks with a shallowness bordering on stupidity. Sitting behind him during the Slytherin-Ravenclaw Quidditch match at the beginning of the year, Albus and Scorpius had actually come to the astonishing conclusion that more than a third of his conversation with the three girls sitting around him consisted of elementary variations on his infamous catchphrase, “Why, don’t you want some Anthony lovin’?”

That phrase had become a running joke among their peers, who used it at every opportunity and in the most bizarre circumstances: while playing Quidditch, answering their Divination professor and, most famously, while running away from Atkinson in the Astronomy Tower stairs. Despite all that practice, consensus among the boys was that no one had ever managed to say it with a leer as ridiculous as Anthony’s. Consensus among the girls was probably quite different though. Anthony seemed to have endless success with them.

Still, light-hearted Hufflepuff bashing can only entertain for so long, and their smiles soon faded away.

Usually, at that point, their conversation would branch out and tackle something completely different, like the latest Charms assignment or the approaching OWL exams.

But not this time.

After a few seconds of silence, Scorpius voice’s unexpectedly turned serious, and more than a little hesitant. “You know, I often wonder why we never talk about girls with each other. If it wasn’t for Anthony’s fan club, we would never even mention them.”

Immediately, Albus tensed up. Part of the reason why he had got closer and closer to Scorpius in recent months was the fact that the two of them could talk for hours and never broach that particular subject. With all his other friends or house-mates, girls were an increasingly regular topic of conversation and that always made him feel awkward. He had for instance ended up viewing questions about whether “Chick A was hotter than Chick B” as loaded traps. More often than not, his answers had provoked thunderous laughs, which no half-hearted “Stop laughing! It's insulting! She’s nice” could stop. One time, as he was even more bewildered than usual by the reaction his answer had provoked, a house-mate had tried to explain to him, with no little condescension, that “hot” and “nice” were two completely different qualities. Although Albus still wasn’t quite sure why that was, he knew better than to ask.

So far, Albus had believed that Scorpius’ interest in these matters was as limited as his was. Studying and having fun with friends were quite enough to fill up Albus’s days. He had no time to waste longing for unreachable beauties or trying to impress girls he had nothing to say to just because they happened to have showy breasts. James was doing it enough for the both of them anyway. As far as he was concerned, sexual awakening could still wait.

Sadly, it appeared Scorpius was slightly more eager to leave his sexless childhood than Albus thought he was.

While Albus was racking his brains to find a way to divert the conversation toward safer topics, the room’s door suddenly opened, startling them both. Since no one seemed to enter, Scorpius, assuming it was just a draught, simply got up and closed it, adding a locking spell for good measure. Then, unaware of the extent of his friend’s unease with their current conversation, he got back on the couch and, leaning once again on Albus, continued his probing.

“I mean, we are sixteen. I don’t know about you but, each night, as soon as my head touches the pillow, my mind turns naturally toward sex, and it’s all I can think about until I fall asleep, and although we seem to talk about everything else, we never talk about that. I can’t help wondering why.”

There was no ignoring Albus’ discomfort now. But still, Scorpius carried on, hoping for some kind of answer. “Don’t you fancy anyone in the school? Who do you think about when you get yourself all worked up behind your bed curtains? I’d think we are good enough friends to talk about all that. I mean.....most people in our year seem unable to drop the subject.”

The face red with embarrassment, Albus was trying to find a way to elude that barrage of questions. Nothing came to mind. Stumped, he finally decided that his sexual fantasies were so boring that telling them as matter-of-factly as possible might be the quickest way of closing that topic for good. After all, he did trust Scorpius not to laugh.

“Of course we are good enough friends.How can you doubt it? It's just that I don’t enjoy talking about that stuff.... With anyone.... It makes me feel, I don’t know, inadequate. As if I am lacking some fundamental boy gene and that’s why I find the idea of sex so boring... But if you really want us to talk, fine...Let’s do it... But don’t you dare throw it back into my face later.”

“I would never do that... I just want us to know each other better, that's all,” said Scorpius, slightly adjusting his position against Albus’ chest.

“Well, OK then. First I have to say that, even if you sound like some kind of horn-dog, obsessing about girls every night, I’m not. For me it’s more like a fleeting thought I have once every two weeks, if that. But when it happens, I usually imagine myself lying down on my back, eyes closed. Then I feel a body over mine. No recognizable face though. I don’t fancy any particular girl at the moment. Maybe that’s why I close my eyes I don’t know. But I feel kisses on my cheeks, my eyes, then my lips, we snog. It feels nice. It’s the part I enjoy the most. Then she starts going down on me and you know, kissing my neck, my throat, licking my chest, my navel, that sort of thing. Then down again.”

Albus felt quite silly saying all this out loud and was getting more and more mortified with every word. Meanwhile, Scorpius was trembling with excitement and feeling the flow of Albus’s words slowing down, he suddenly turned over, one arm on the armrest, the other on the back of the couch and looked at Albus with an amused smile before leaning down and murmuring in his friend’s ear “and then she takes your cock in her mouth and starts sucking you off... Is that it? I knew there had to be a dirty mind lurking somewhere behind that silly hair of yours. You should release it, let it roam your conscious thoughts. It will make your nights much more interesting, trust me. Nothing beats thinking about sex in bed. I’ve been doing it for years.”

Hearing those words in Scorpius’s mouth made Albus blush even harder. He was feeling oddly vulnerable, as if he had just confessed some despicable crime. And Scorpius’ amused smile was not making him feel any better. That smile might just have been Scorpius being excited to finally share something he was apparently thinking about obsessively, but Albus could only see it as just another boy mocking him for his lack of interest in girls. He was half expecting his friend to turn into James and tell him dismissively  “Don’t be such a baby or you’ll die a virgin.”

Hiding his hurt as well as he could, Albus countered, “You're such a twat. I knew I should have kept all this to myself. This is private stuff for a reason.... OK then. Now you tell me all about those great fantasies you conjure in your bed at night. I doubt they are that more elaborate.”

Scorpius made an amused noise, unable to resist teasing his friend further, “I’m not sure I should tell you that. Is it really safe for you to hthe fantasies a boy who got all the right genes can have?”

"I'm pretty sure it is, yes. Don't flatter yourself."

Scorpius kept silent for a few seconds, his face expressing some inner turmoil that Albus could not decipher. Then he took a deep breath, as if he was preparing himself for casting a very difficult spell for the first time.

“OK then. I’m also on a bed, knees on the mattress, astride a naked body. I start dropping kisses wherever I can: the face, the eyes, the lips. We snog. Then I’m slowly going down, giving little pecks on the throat, the nipples, the navel, then I go down again.”

Albus gasped. “Ew. You’re not going there, are you?”

Undeterred, Scorpius continued, “Yes I am, but probably not to do what you think.” The briefest hesitation then, “Actually, you see, in my fantasies, there is usually no girl... What I find down there is another boy’s cock. I raise it with my hand toward my mouth... then I start sucking it.”. Scorpius made another pause, much longer, before murmuring, “and I’m pretty sure it’s yours.”

The following seconds were probably the most awkward of Scorpius’ life. Albus was staring at him, wide-eyed, looking utterly bewildered, as if he had just witnessed his friend speaking in tongues.

Desperate for a reaction, Scorpius tried to make his meaning clearer, before the uncertainty of the moment made him lose his courage.

“So what do you say? Do you think you could amend your fantasy somewhat... I don’t know... like open your eyes... and not see that faceless girl going down on you... what if that was me... Would that weird you out? .... Because if not... well, you know.... they would be awfully compatible... our fantasies I mean... and there would be nothing to stop us making them real.... if we both wanted to of course... and I’d like that... a lot.”

Each word passing his lips made Scorpius more unsure. The last ones were barely audible.

Then there was just silence. Two boys staring at one another, a pair of eyes filled with hope and dread, the other with uncomprehending stupor.

Then Albus’ eyes suddenly got even wider, as if, at last, he had processed everything: the hopeful look Scorpius was giving him, what all that rambling had actually meant and the way his groin was pressed on Scorpius’ stomach. Pushing his friend away with his hand, he quickly got up, making up some story about a Potions essay to finish then unlocked the door with a quick spell and ran down the stairs, not caring that Scorpius was in the same class as him in Potions and knew perfectly well that no such essay was due any time soon.

Scorpius was left alone, and after a few seconds, he threw himself on the couch, scowling and thinking “Fuck! That could have gone better”, already furious at himself, wondering why he had kept pushing when it had been clear almost from the start that this particular talk made Albus uneasy.

Then he let himself calm down. When he went back to his dorm a few minutes later, just before bedtime, most of his worries had evaporated. Even if Albus was still feeling weird about their conversation after sleeping on it, he should be able to pass the whole thing off as a joke. He would just have to laugh and say things like “I can’t believe you fell for that” or “Of course it was a joke… Don’t tell me you thought I was serious... Oh, Merlin, that’s too funny.”

He spent that whole night awake in his bed, mapping out his plans to make light, if necessary, of his confession. Imagining Albus’ possible reactions (something he thought he was getting increasingly good at), he carefully crafted the perfect response to all of them.

When Scorpius got up the next morning, he was convinced that, however Albus would feel about the previous night’s events, their friendship would still be intact at the end of the day.

Sadly, complications he couldn’t have foreseen were going to mess up his plans.  
 

 

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

 

_Wednesday, the 12th of May 2022, the Great Hall._

  
Scorpius had decided to go to breakfast early, hoping to find Albus and talk to him while most students were still in bed. So, when he arrived, only Lisa Perry was already there. She was sitting alone at the Ravenclaw table, munching away at a piece of toast while reading one of those insanely thick books she seemed to bring everywhere with her. Relieved that his friend had yet to arrive, Scorpius sat down and slowly began to butter his first slice of toast.

After a few minutes, students started arriving in groups of two or three. When Albus finally entered the Great Hall, he was having an animated conversation with his cousin Rose, and quickly sat down in his usual seat, turning his back on the other tables without ever glancing at the rest of the Hall. Resigned to a longer wait, Scorpius ate his breakfast distractedly, ignoring his house-mates and waiting for Albus to get up and walk towards the doors so he could follow him. A couple of minutes later, James entered the hall and sat down in front of his brother, glaring at Scorpius while doing so. The brothers exchanged a few quiet words then began arguing more noisily. Only fragments of what they said were audible at the Slytherin table but words like “You can’t be his friend” and “Malfoy” left little doubt as to what it was about. Scorpius felt reassured when Albus looked like he was trying to defend him, but that hope was short-lived. James suddenly raised his voice to shout, “How can you? His grandfather tried to kill Mum.”

All the students and professors present at breakfast heard it, and a heavy silence fell on the Hall. Albus was staying still, apparently stunned. Scorpius could not see his face, all he could see was James’ face, distorted with anger. Then Albus slowly turned his head and met his eyes, giving him a sad and strangely reproachful look. Their eyes stayed locked for a few seconds before Albus got up quickly and stormed out of the hall, immediately followed by his cousin and his brother. From the moment Albus sat down to the moment he got up again, no more than five minutes had elapsed.

Frozen to his seat, fork still in hand, Scorpius was staring at the doors, wondering what on Earth had just happened. Two years ago, James had been making it pretty clear he didn’t approve of his and Albus’s budding friendship but things had seemed to get better with time, probably in part because Albus’s father and aunt were always making a point of being nice to him when they met. He had even managed to exchange a few polite greetings with James over the last few months. Scorpius couldn’t imagine what had brought about this setback.  
 

 

 

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO  
 

   
 _Thursday, the 13th of May 2022, Hogwart's Great Hall._

 

At breakfast the next day, Scorpius received an owl.

   
 _Scorpius,_

_I have just been notified by Headmistress McGonagall that you are causing disruption in the school.  Although she did add it was not entirely your fault, I must admit I feel concerned._

_Floo me as soon as possible to give me all relevant information. I shall be at the Manor all day._

_Your father_

 

So, after lunch, Scorpius went to the deserted Slytherin common room and flooed home. After apologizing to his father for the displeasure the Headmistress’s owl must have caused him, he tried to explain as well as he could what had happened. He talked briefly about his two-year-old friendship with Albus, how it had strengthened in recent months, and how the mention of an old incident between his grandfather and Albus’s mom had unexpectedly endangered it.

Draco was listening carefully, nodding once or twice to encourage his son to keep talking but making no further comments. When Scorpius got to the end of his story, there were a few moments of silence. Then he tentatively added, “Father, that thing James said... I would like to make things right with Albus.... I need to know”, then he stopped, not quite daring to ask the question outright.

Draco looked for a few seconds as if he didn’t quite know how to react. For sixteen years, he had told his son as little as possible about their family’s role in the War, hoping to shield him from the stigma attached to his name. It had been difficult at times. Little Scorpius had often wondered why his father and he were so poorly welcomed in shops, or why strangers were sending them evil looks in Diagon Alley. A few times, he had even asked his father about it and Draco had simply answered “Your grandfather had many enemies”, leaving it at that.

Although Draco knew those vague answers would not be enough this time, he was at first reluctant to go into more detail. Eventually though, he realized that, at sixteen, Scorpius was old enough to handle the truth.

So he talked. He explained to his son who Lucius Malfoy was and how, while obeying the Dark Lord’s orders, he had nearly caused Ginny Weasley’s death. Then Draco tried to make him see that, as tragic as they were, those actions had taken place nearly thirty years ago, and that his father had paid for them with his life.

Then he told his son about himself, about the few years following the War, about trials and investigations, about all that had been done to build a new society, more open and less prejudiced, and also to prevent past crimes from coming back to haunt new generations.

The whole talk lasted almost half an hour. Years later, Scorpius would think back about that day, remembering how he had listened with rapt attention to his father retelling the last fifty years of his family’s history, and he would realize his being told had actually marked the end of his childhood. Some time during those thirty minutes, his father had stopped thinking he had to shelter his son from the outside world and had decided to let him take his own destiny in hand.

Before disconnecting the Floo, Draco added one last thing, almost as an afterthought. “Scorpius, if you want your relationship with Albus to survive, you will have to make him – and his whole family – understand and accept what I’ve just told you. It is the only way.”

At no point during their conversation had Scorpius talked about what his true feelings for Albus were. So, at first, his father’s use of the word “relationship”, in place of the more neutral “friendship”, surprised him, although he quickly understood that it was his father’s way to tell him he didn’t disapprove.

Father and son had actually tiptoed around the subject of sexual preference a few times in the past, most recently at Christmas break, when Draco had given a toe-curlingly embarrassing “sex talk” to Scorpius, who had then asked some carefully genderless questions about sex magic and magical bonding. At the time, the son had thought he had played it perfectly, gaining information about same-sex relationships without revealing too much about himself, but his father had obviously picked up on it.

So it was with genuine emotion that he told him, “Thanks Dad... for everything” before going to his afternoon classes.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he had called his father “Dad”.

 

 

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO  
 

   
 _Sunday the 16th of May 2022, 1am, Hogwart’s Astronomy Tower_

 

Scorpius had been sitting in the top room of the Astronomy Tower for more than an hour and, still, nobody was coming. But he kept hoping. Surely Albus was on his way. He was going to appear at the door any minute now, then they would talk and everything would be all right again.

But as minutes, then hours, passed, Scorpius’ optimism slowly dissipated, and when the darkness of the night made way for the morning sun, Scorpius was forced to admit that, despite his hopes, past deeds and old family feuds had truly cut their friendship short, apparently for good.

Looking at the rumpled piece of parchment lying on the floor beside him, Scorpius realized with horror Albus might have written it as a cheap prank. Even picking the Astronomy Tower as a meeting point could just be a cruel way to make fun of his confession. Dejected, he went back to his dorm to freshen up. Although he had no intention of leaving his room this Sunday, there was no way he’d let himself go. It would be like admitting Albus' cruelty had actually broken him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is almost all dialogue (as will be the next). I sometimes think it would read better as a play, with stage directions put in. At this point of their life, Harry and Draco are very much the talking kind. They chew the fat, reminisce about their past, then talk a bit more. Sorry if you find it boring but it is pretty much how I see this scene.

_Sunday, the 16th of May 2022, Platform 9 and 3/4_

When Harry walked through the wall and entered the nearly deserted Platform Nine and Three Quarters, Draco was already there, looking around with casual ennui. Harry immediately went to greet him, trying to convey with his walk an assurance he didn’t really feel. He had spent the whole night worrying about this train journey, not quite knowing what to expect. He had for instance agonized for hours about how he should address his former school rival, who he hadn’t talked to in almost 20 years. He thought ‘Mister Malfoy’ was a bit too formal for people who went to school together, but they weren’t quite on a first-name basis either. Calling him Draco would feel weird, somehow forced.

So, when he reached Draco, he only said "Hello" and held his hand to be shaken, wanting to let Draco decide how formal their interaction would be. Draco’s handshake was firm and his smile, while discreet, seemed genuine.

“Mister Potter. I am grateful you agreed to this meeting with me. Even though we will most likely be the only passengers on the train, I took the liberty to reserve a cabin for us. So if you could please follow me, we shall go and take our seats without delay. I see no reason to linger on the platform.”

After a short walk, they stepped into the first carriage. It was much more luxurious than what Harry remembered from his school days. Two deep couches were placed against both sides of the car, leaving a wide central alley going from the front door to the rear door. Harry took a seat in the middle of the couch on the left, while Draco sat opposite him.

Harry wished for a moment the train had been furnished more conventionally, with seats facing forward. Sitting next to each other would have felt more like they were aiming for cooperation, which was the spirit in which Harry wanted to view this trip, whereas their facing each other across a wide divide immediately conjured unwanted images of confrontation. It also would have had the added bonus of allowing him to follow the kind of meaningful discussion Malfoy obviously wanted them to have and still be able to watch the landscape passing by through the windows. He had actually looked forward to losing himself in those once familiar views.

Not wanting to let an uneasy silence settle, but reluctant to get to the heart of the matter before they even left London, Draco launched into an unnecessarily lengthy exposé about the history of the Hogwarts Express. Harry almost felt sent back 30 years ago, going back to Hogwarts for a new year while Hermione excitedly read some ‘fascinating’ excerpts from her current book of choice about wizarding history. More than once, he felt like glancing beside him to roll his eyes and share a smile with Ron. But there was nobody with him on that couch. Hermione’s thirst for knowledge had been mostly quenched years ago, and Ron was probably doing important things somewhere in Muggle London.

Quite happy to let Draco talk, Harry was occupying himself in glancing around at the moving pictures of Hogwarts on the walls, nodding from time to time to show he was interested but keeping otherwise silent. They both knew this was just preliminary small talk.

When the train finally gained speed, Draco’s idle chat slowed down and his demeanour turned more serious.

"As pleasant as this is, I did not ask you to meet me just so you could hear me sing the praises of the wizarding transports system. We are both here because a problem concerning our sons has arisen in the last few days and I thought it needed addressing. Getting to the bottom of this could take a while. So, if you have no objections, I think we should get started immediately. First of all, I want to assure you I intend to be completely honest with you today. What you will hear will be the naked truth and my reasons for saying it will be explained to you with as much candour as I can. As you can probably guess, this is not my usual way of dealing with awkward conversations but I thought long and hard about how I should tackle this discussion with you, and I came to the conclusion that your trust was key. I intend to make everything I can to gain it.”

Listening to this pompous opening, Harry couldn't help being amused by Draco's formal way of speaking. Those unnecessarily long sentences and that awkward reluctance to use contractions reminded him of the Queen's speech the Dursleys used to watch on Christmas day. Both sounded like they were reading every word from a carefully written script. Harry didn't know how much improvisation the Queen had been allowed to put into her speeches at the time, but he thought it was quite likely Draco had indeed written down and learnt everything he needed to say to him before embarking. Carefully planning things in advance had always been a Slytherin trait. Still, not wanting to offend him from the start by pointing it out, Harry only muttered, "Er... Okay. I guess honesty can only be a good thing."

Sensing he would not get any more encouragement, Draco continued.

"In the next few hours I am going to ask for your help in bringing our families closer, and my only purpose here is to convince you to say yes, and ensure you will never find reason to regret doing it. So, in order for you to make an informed decision, I think I should first come clear about my personal role in the War. You already know that one of the reasons I got off lightly in my trial is that nobody had been able to conclusively establish whether or not I had been marked."

"Yes. I remember that. Although I was convinced you had been, I couldn't prove it. Your parents didn’t know for certain. So, only you, Voldemort or Borgin could have given us a definite answer. With Borgin and Voldemort dead, and you immune to Veritaserum, we had no way of being sure."

Indeed, it was a well-known fact that, while in prison, Lucius had sworn under Veritaserum that even he didn't know for sure if his son had been marked. Harry had always found it surprising that a father could ignore such a thing. Even if Draco had been marked unbeknownst to him, they must have discussed it at some point during their long months of captivity in Malfoy Manor.

When he said so, Draco replied, "Of course. You were right to find it odd. My parents obviously knew I was marked, and we discussed it quite a few times during that year. But my parents had asked me to obliviate their memories of it shortly after you defeated the Dark Lord. As for me, I wasn't really immune to Veritaserum. As far as I know, no one can be. It had been Severus's idea a few years before to spread a rumour pretending I was, in the hopes that the usual shortage of freshly brewed Veritaserum would keep the Aurors from wasting it on me. I only got one dose of it when an Auror without much experience was ordered to check if the rumours were true. He was so naive about the procedure and asked such generic and open-ended questions that I actually managed to elude them all without lying outright."

"So," Harry said, "if anyone had asked you under Veritaserum if you had been marked, you would have been forced to tell the truth. I can't believe that, during all those months you spent in prison, nobody ever thought of it."

"I wondered about that too. I knew my father was willing to strike a deal with the Ministry and I guess that part of his bargain with the Ministry was for Aurors to be less than diligent in finding out whether or not I was marked. It's the only explanation that makes any sense to me."

"Maybe. Still, I really can't see why it should matter now. Even if you were marked, your sentencing has been a success. You've been an exemplary citizen for more than twenty years now."

Draco was taken aback by that unexpected compliment, but chose to continue without acknowledging it. "My best guess is that the Mark vanished after Voldemort's death because I had not yet been forced to kill for him. There was a persistent rumour in Death-Eater ranks that a Mark was only permanently etched in your skin after you had proven your allegiance that way. I guess it's only luck that he never asked it of me after I failed to kill Dumbledore."

"You might see it that way", Harry countered," but I would say that what saved you there was not luck but your inability to kill Dumbledore. Mostly it showed you weren't stupid enough to become a committed Death-Eater... You know, I often think back about the War and how it turned out and I always reach the same conclusion, which is that I shouldn't wish for any of it to be different. Maybe my godfather, Remus, Fred and all the others had to die, maybe you had to be marked, maybe you had to try murdering Dumbledore and fail so that I could eventually kill Voldemort. Who can say? So if you're asking for my forgiveness here, you need not bother. You already had it. I've never regretted saving your life. I'm not going to start now. As far as I can see, you deserved it."

There was no ignoring that statement, and Draco looked truly humbled for a few seconds. Harry noted with a slight surprise that he didn’t feel any joy at having permanently gained the upper hand in the fierce rivalry they had shared since they were eleven. It felt like an empty victory, as if yet another part of his youth was being taken away.

Harry had always thought the silent understanding he and Draco had reached after the War was comfortable. Their respective status was clearly defined and acknowledged in a suitably impersonal way, so as not to stir up old, painful memories. But now he wasn’t so sure. What he had just told Draco made him realize this man, sitting before him in impeccably tailored robes, could well be as important a symbol of his accomplishments as his own children were. It made him wonder whether talking openly about it all could not be a welcome form of closure for the both of them. Wasn’t it time to bury the hatchet for good? They might even realize nothing stops them from becoming friends now.

So Harry asked, "You know, for the last twenty years I've been amazed by how completely you changed after the war. I can't quite understand how the adult you are now can be the same person as the teenager who made our life hell at Hogwarts. I’m not quite sure who the real Draco Malfoy is anymore. Were you sincere then, or are you sincere now?"

Draco hesitated for a few seconds, picking his words very carefully.

"I will have to answer this like a true Slytherin. You might not like it, but I can honestly say that I was sincere then and that I am still sincere now. But between then and now, things changed, so I had to adapt. I have always felt that my actions were in line with my beliefs though. I suppose the main reason why my political views changed was that I got to see for myself who the Dark Lord really was... And I hated what I saw. I think it only took a few weeks of meeting him face-to-face to make me hate him almost as much as you did. I loathed him for the way he treated my mother and me, and for the way he forced my father to bow and grovel at his feet."

After a few moments, Draco continued, "He was also obviously insane. All the ideas behind the policies implemented when Voldemort was to all intents and purposes leading the Ministry were actually McNair's. Voldemort loved hiding, plotting, ranting about the unfairness of his situation but he didn't know how to cope with actual power. He much preferred hunting you down to writing new laws. You were all he talked about during those few months. It was ridiculous. I mean, he had the opportunity to mould the wizarding society, to make it the way he always said he wanted it to be. Instead, he was obsessing about your whereabouts. It quickly became obvious to me that he wasn't the leader we had hoped he could be. I can honestly say that when the battle of Hogwarts took place I was hoping you would win. I couldn't wait for you to get rid of him."

Harry wasn't sure how he felt about all that, so he stayed silent.

"I suppose that is the first reason why I changed. There is another one you might like even less. You have good reasons to hate Lucius and what he did to you, your wife and your friends, but you have to understand that he was my father. I loved him and I would never have dreamt of betraying him or ignoring his wishes. I was always loyal to my father and my opinions on the Dark Lord changed roughly when his own did.

“You may not know it, but his decision to plead guilty and offer his total cooperation with the Ministry was taken just after you killed the Dark Lord, during that party in Hogwarts's Great Hall. He knew he was going to be arrested and that it was probably his last evening of freedom. So he spent it drilling me endlessly on what I would have to do so that our family's prestige could survive his death. He told me to accept the basics of the upcoming society and to change my views so they could fit inside it; not to hide my true opinions and pretend to agree, but to truly make myself endorse it, fully and without reservations.

“That advice made such an impression on me that I can still remember most of his words today. 'Draco," he told me. "You are an intelligent boy. You know that nothing is all black or all white. There will be changes that you can fully support in this new society. Concentrate your public support on them. There will also be changes you dislike. You should study them attentively, try to understand the point of view of those who support them, see them from their perspective. If you do that, honestly and without bias, you are bound to find that those changes will not be entirely unwelcome. Then it becomes just a question of weighing the pros and cons and it might be easier than you think to tip the balance in the other direction.'

“At that point, he was silent for a long moment, looking around the Great Hall at those relieved faces, at the smiles curving most lips despite the numerous wounded bodies being looked after on the tables or on the floor. Then he continued, in a more subdued tone, 'Don't hesitate to question what I have always told you. The final purpose of this will be for you to see this new society as a lesser evil. And who knows? It might very well be. I think both of us now see that the society we dreamt of could not have happened under the Dark Lord's rule. So, if the upcoming restoration is handled responsibly, you might agree with some, if not most, of the changes.’

“I must admit I had trouble believing it was really my father saying all that, but it was, and I avidly listened. I knew it was the last time he would ever give me advice and I could not bear to miss any of it. He also said, ‘If you commit yourself to this plan, you should be able to maintain most of your status in our society. What you do after that is entirely up to you. As my sole heir, you will soon be responsible for the future of the Mafoy line. From now on, all your life decisions will have to be taken in the best interests of our family. It is not a task you should take lightly. You will very soon realize it entails some painful sacrifices.'

“This was, as you can probably imagine, a very emotional talk and I cried during most of it. What he was asking of me seemed like an impossible task at the time. But I was determined to stick to it as closely as possible, for him, for my mother and for me. And I have been doing it for twenty-five years now. With hindsight, it seems obvious it was the right course of action."

Draco knew he had reached a crucial point in what he had to tell Harry, so he stayed silent, fidgeting around and staring at the meadows and forests rushing by behind the windows, waiting for a reaction. Harry seemed lost in thoughts but eventually looked at Draco and said, "I really don't know what to make of all this. I can't see how you can talk about actively trying to change your views and still pretend to be as true to yourself now as you were then. It seems like an obvious contradiction to me."

"I know it must sound alien to your Gryffindor mind... Maybe it would help to take into account what I had to do after the War. You probably remember I was sent away to a Muggle university, where I studied History for three years, without any contact whatsoever with magic. Before that, Muggles were just a non-entity for me. I had been told they were a threat for our way of life and that they should be fought as such. Still, it was a threat I could never have associated with a face. At Hogwarts, it looked like Granger for a while. I hated her for besting me in most classes so it was only fitting that I used her as the face of our mortal enemies.

“Still, Granger might be Muggleborn but she was certainly no Muggle. I knew very little of real Muggles, had never even seen one face-to-face. In my mind, Muggles were envious of our abilities and felt disabled by their lack of magic, as Squibs do in our world. So they wanted nothing more than to destroy us. Do you know I only heard about the Statute of Secrecy at Hogwarts? Before that, I truly thought the Wizarding world was in an open war with Muggles and that Muggleborns were spies sent to infiltrate us. The first tale I can remember my father telling me was about Salem witches being burnt alive. So you can understand how I resented Dumbledore's welcoming of Muggleborns. To me he was nothing but a traitor to his kind."

"Was that really how you saw Muggles? It would explain a few things about the motivations of Death-Eaters during the war if that kind of misinformation was widely spread."

"I couldn’t possibly say. You will have to ask other people. I can only speak of my own experience."

"But still, your views were bound to change during your education at Hogwarts, weren't they?"

"Very little I'm afraid. When I told my father about what I had been taught at Hogwarts, he dismissed it all without a thought, told me the Statute of Secrecy was just a joke, a thin veil the Ministry used to hide the war situation from lesser wizards. And if you add to that the fact that the Muggle Integration Studies class at Hogwarts was a complete waste of time, I’m afraid my views on Muggles were as uninformed at eighteen as they had been at ten. On the day I was escorted by Aurors to my student flat in central London, I had little reason to view Muggles as more than envious animals, with few or no abilities worth mentioning."

"And then you found out they were more than that," Harry interrupted.

"Yes, although it took me a few weeks... My first flatmate was a nightmare, the most obnoxious, rude, and plain disgusting individual I had ever met. He seemed to take a malicious pleasure in making my life hell. He stole my food, burnt my essay drafts, and never washed dishes, cooked or cleaned anything. He told me almost every day that I was a stuck-up Daddy's boy. His biggest joy in life was to burp in my face, which he did at every opportunity. Once, I forgot to lock my bedroom door before going to sleep and he woke me up at dawn by burping in my face. He was actually so pissed he ended up throwing up on me."

Harry cringed in sympathy.

"I thought he was going to apologize. I mean, even if I was a ‘stuck-up Daddy's boy’, surely that was out of line? But no, he seemed to find this hilarious and left the room laughing like a mad person. If my wand had been on my bedside table on that particular night, I would have killed him. There is no question about it."

"Can’t say I would have blamed you. My Muggle relatives weren't that bad, all things considered, and I still dreamt of killing them a few times. How did you survive three years like that? I don't suppose you were allowed to move out?"

"Obviously not. What saved me is that a Ministry employee who was responsible for monitoring my immersion program came to visit barely two days after that incident. He seemed professional enough, not overtly hostile anyway. So I told him about my flatmate and how he was preventing me from applying myself to my studies, which was a critical point since I had to pass those three years at university if I was to be welcomed back in wizarding society... He listened attentively, obviously disturbed by what I was telling him. Then he left, promising to return the day after.

“I later learnt that the estate agent who had rented the room to my flatmate was the friend of a Muggleborn Ministry employee who disapproved of my escaping prison. He had made up some story about a cousin who wanted to rent the room I occupied and asked my flatmate to do everything he could to get me to move out as soon as possible. He had also promised that if I abandoned my room before Christmas he'd give my flatmate two months of free rent."

"Wait a minute," Harry cut in, "I remember this. There were a lot of cases like yours. After a few weeks of investigation, Kingsley even talked about deliberate attempts at sabotaging the reconciliation process - I think those were his exact words. A few people were fired. It was quite a hot issue at the time."

"I never knew it went further than my particular case, although I cannot say it surprises me. At the time, I thought those three years were just a cruel punishment so it is only natural other people thought so too. It was only when that employee came to see how I was coping that I understood that the whole experience was about broadening my horizons and changing my views at least as much as it was about punishing me."

"In the higher ranks, that was the general idea, yes. Hermione actually came up with the concept of that programme, and I mentioned it during one of the endless meetings I was forced to attend after the War. It was one of the very few suggestions I ever dared to make. Sadly, not all Ministry employees shared that positive view and some of them designed the specifics of the program in order to make it as painful an experience as possible. As a consequence, some of you endured some very rough first few weeks. When the issue went public, there were some gruesome stories in the Prophet about heavy bullying, and even torture. I think one guy died, although I can’t quite remember the specifics of the case."

"Someone died!? Merlin’s beard! Maybe I can even count myself lucky then... I must say I am surprised a political debate arose about those facts and even more surprised that a final consensus could be reached in our favour. I never would have thought that the general public could end up feeling sorry for us less than a year after the Dark Lord's death."

"I’m afraid it didn't happen overnight. It was quite a long process and there were some heated debates in the press. But Shacklebolt's stance eventually prevailed, as it often did during those few years... But enough about politics. Let’s get back to you if you don’t mind. I suppose things got much easier after you got rid of that flatmate from hell."

"Oh yes, I was assigned a new one, who was as nice and easy-going as his predecessor had been mean and obnoxious. You can’t begin to imagine how relieved I was. After a few days of mutual observation, we ended up getting on like a house on fire. He became my first real Muggle friend. We were in the same year and ended up doing everything together. For almost three years, we were never apart for more than a few hours. He liked how dedicated I was to my studies and my sense of humour. I liked that he never looked surprised when I asked some very basic questions about Muggle life. To cover for my ignorance I had made up a story about my being raised in a French-speaking African country and knew very little about life in Britain. He bought it, strangely enough, or at least pretended to.

“Until recently, we still met regularly for dinner in my apartment in Muggle London. Unfortunately, that stopped a few months ago because of a misunderstanding. He was feeling down and wanted us to meet each other more frequently. I told him it was impossible because of my work and he refused to believe me. Since I could hardly be honest and tell him I was leading a parallel life in a magical world, he got mad and told me some horrible things, all basically leading to the fact that he didn’t need lousy friends like me. I never had the courage to contact him again after that. But I really miss him. I still consider him my best friend now."

“Then you should seek him out.”

“Why bother? It'd probably be too little too late as far as he's concerned.”

Getting back to their original point, Harry said, “Anyway, making a close Muggle friend must have been a huge shock to you. Is that the main reason why your views changed?"

“Of course. That and discovering their world. I would never have believed it as a child but Muggles achieved some truly astonishing things.”

“I suppose they did, yeah. Although, since I lived all my childhood as a Muggle, I probably can't relate to your state of bewilderment."

“Maybe not, but as you know both worlds quite well, you will agree with me that our world has become much too complacent in the last century or so. Everything in the Wizarding world now looks old and dated, ancient even. Look at this train for instance. It probably hasn't been refurbished since 1900. I mean, it's obviously great that we can use Reparo to get things back to their unused state. But it also means that innovation and progress have all but disappeared from our world. The first time I wandered in the City, I was amazed at what I was seeing, all those buildings, those cars rushing down the streets. I literally could not believe my eyes.”

Harry suddenly snorted. When Draco looked at him in surprise, he felt the need to explain. "Sorry, I just pictured you standing on the pavement, gaping disbelievingly at banks while suited businessmen were rushing past and muttering about bleached hippies standing in their way.”

Draco smiled. "I am glad to provide you with some entertainment although that was not my intent. I was actually trying to get a point across. I had never imagined, in a million years, that buildings, functional buildings that people actually live or work in, could look like that: sky-high, angular, shiny, see-through, all made of glass, concrete and steel. Since the house preservation spells were invented, almost no new buildings have been built in wizarding Greater London. And indeed, what would have been the point? It’s not like the wizarding population is increasing all the time. So, as a result, all wizarding houses look old, certainly cosy and lived-in, but increasingly shabby. I mean, we are well into the 21st century and Diagon Alley still look like a film set for a Dickensian BBC drama."

Harry laughed. "Stop it with all those Muggle references, you're starting to scare me. Dickens, the BBC, what's next? Football? Coronation Street? Snooker? Marmite?"

Draco smiled before continuing. "I did live three years in the Muggle world, you know. And we had a television set. I was bound to pick up a few things.... I suppose what I wanted to say here is that our magical abilities allowed us, even encouraged us, to stop creating new things, to stop innovating. During my exile, I encountered dozens of areas in which Muggles have quite obviously outdone us.

“Look at the Internet for instance. Forget for a moment how embarrassing it is that some of us still use owls to send written messages, a communication system so outdated Muggles stopped using it two hundred years ago. Just remember how we spent dozens of miserable evenings in Hogwart’s library, hunched above old dusty books trying to find some lines of information about spells or potion ingredients. Meanwhile, Muggles just plug their computers in, type the words they want to search for, and, voilà!, all they need to know appear on the screen, albeit lost inside a sea of things no one would ever need to know. Think about how easier Google would make students' lives at Hogwarts. Writing a twenty-five inch scroll about newts' eyes or frog saliva would only be a two-hour inconvenience, and not the two-day nightmare it was for us."

Maybe not wanting to appear mistaken about the true extent of Muggles' achievements, Draco amended, "Of course, I know there is no magic involved, which means that this fantastic tool is built upon a staggering amount of work. Neil, that’s the name of my flatmate, explained to me once that all information appearing in a Web search must have been typed onto a computer at some point. Once, I naively tried searching for the properties of Newt's eyes in Polyjuice potions and nothing useful came up, because no Muggles could have written about it. Still, the amount of work involved makes it for me an even more impressive achievement, which could prove very useful if brought into our world."

"I think Hermione and Ron looked into it at some point, using Muggle technology I mean. But it appears to be quite tricky. Apparently, electricity reacts badly with magical artefacts, although nobody quite knows why. I remember Hermione telling me a story about her department trying to interface a computer with a slightly modified Reproducing Quill. It works fine when the Quill has to touch letters written on a parchment, but it stops working when those letters are on a plugged-in computer keyboard. I believe that this area of research has now been abandoned. My own experience of it is that I can't use the computerized till of the Muggle pub I sometimes work in if my wand is in my sleeve. The screen just freezes and I have to reboot the operating system. It's a real pain in the arse."

"I bet it is. I suppose I should be thankful that my wand had been confiscated at the time. I had no problem at all using electricity during my years at University, even though the first few weeks of getting acquainted with my laptop were very frustrating. I still have nightmares of blue screens."

After a theatrical shudder, Draco elaborated, with more and more animation, "There are many other great Muggle inventions. Take pen and paper for instance, so much easier to use than quill, ink and parchment. Or the credit card, which allows you to pay for goods without any handling of Galleons or Goblin bonds... For more than a century now, wizards seem to be stuck in the past. Meanwhile, Muggle technology thrives."

Draco might have noticed Harry's barely hidden amusement at this passionate praising of Muggles because his excitement suddenly abated, his eyes darkening slightly. "Still, I never allow myself to forget the bigger picture. History has proven time and time again that Muggles can't be trusted and that it wouldn't take much for them to decide that all wizards should be exterminated. They obviously have the technology to do it. You may know that wizards are defenceless against gunshots. Bullets are far too quick for a Protego charm to be effective. And I won't even talk about those weapons of mass destruction which could flatten London in just a few seconds. All our magic combined would be useless against those.... I may think that Muggles have achieved great things in the last century or so, but it would be foolish of me to consider them as friends for life."

Harry could not decide if he was sad or relieved to get a glimpse of the Draco he knew as a teenager but he still felt like he needed to argue in favour of Muggles. "Maybe. I don't know. I never actually thought about who would win a war between Muggles and Wizards... I mean, why would they attack us? We don't wish them any harm."

Draco sighed. "I’m sorry to say that you are awfully naïve here. I studied Muggle History for three years and, during those three years, I read about more motiveless barbarities than I can count. Muggles love wars. It's in their blood, even more than in ours it would seem. And I'm convinced that all it would take for them to declare war on us is the potential of financial gain, or maybe just the vague feeling that they have been at peace for too long and need to find some new enemies to fight. It could really be that dumb. In my opinion, revealing ourselves to Muggle leaders, as has become the norm, is a very dangerous gamble. They have an army at their command, and they have knowledge of our existence. All it would take is for them to find a motive to attack us, however flimsy it might be, and things could quickly get messy."

"That's an old debate. And I suppose you're right about one thing. They could attack us now that we've made some of them aware of our existence. But you overlook one very important point. There's no question they would attack us if they suddenly discovered one day that we’ve infiltrated their society. It already happened enough times in the Middle Ages, as your father told you. I'm convinced that open lines of communication are key here, as in most situations. Ron tells me about his job sometimes and one of his main missions is to get Muggle authorities to fear our powers so that they don't get any funny ideas."

“Really? It is a clever move, although I am a bit worried that Weasley has been given such an important charge. There is some deception involved in that mission. Surely, a Slytherin would have been more suited. Your friend has always been so transparent about his feelings. When I try to imagine him puffing his chest, holding his wand in a menacing manner and asking the Prime Minister not to mess with us, I can only see him shivering like a leaf, blushing like a maiden and glancing fearfully at the gun holster of the Secret Service guy."

Harry laughed. "It's obvious you haven't seen Ron for a long time then. His job has given him quite a lot of confidence. You would be surprised by how menacing he can be when he wants to be. Just ask Hugo and Rose, his children. He really can’t be described as transparent anymore. Ninety-five percent of his job assignments are classified so he can't tell anyone about them, not even me. And he never slipped. Even now, after more than ten years, I have very little idea of what he actually does with his days. No, really, you shouldn’t worry. I think the risk of warfare with Muggles is being handled responsibly.

“Besides, as you know, total segregation is impossible. Each year, a handful of witches and wizards are born from Muggle parents and the Muggle government has to be involved somehow if we want those parents to agree to their children being sent to Hogwarts. Left to grow up in the Muggle world, children with magical abilities would be little more than guinea pigs. They would be snatched from their families and locked up in military labs so they could be examined."

“That's exactly the conclusion I reached too. Muggle-born wizards are the one reason why complete segregation is impossible. And since I really can’t see any real benefit in our trying to overpower Muggles - who needs Muggle slaves when you have house-elves? - it means I came to accept the current state of affairs, but I never stopped fearing its potential consequences."

“That's your prerogative, of course, although to hear you say ‘Muggle slaves’ put in my mind some very disturbing flashbacks of some of your nastiest political diatribes.”

Draco smiled. “I only said that enslaving Muggles would be a terrible idea, that we didn’t need them as slaves and that, all in all, they deserved better than slavery. You know, I might not remember everything I said as a child but I’m pretty sure I never said that, if only because my father would have grounded me for months if he had heard it.”

A bit shocked Draco would be comfortable making fun of his previous beliefs with such nonchalance, Harry stared at him disbelievingly, before Draco felt like he should say something to defuse the tension. “Oh come on. If I can laugh at my past, surely you can too. After all, you are the one who was proved right.”

“Yes, but surely you can understand how bizarre it is to hear you say things like that. It feels surreal... Anyway, I can assure you a War with Muggles won’t be coming any time soon. Ron obviously knows by now how to handle the Muggle authorities."

Trying to stir the conversation toward lighter topics, Draco made a show of rolling his eyes and said, "So the Wizarding world's fate lays in Weasley's hands. Who on Earth thought that would be a good idea?"

With more amusement than bite, Harry snapped, "Oh leave it, will you? I thought we were trying to get over the past, not tell old jokes that were never funny in the first place."

Draco's smile faltered. "Sorry. I didn't mean to revive any kind of past unpleasantness, although I must admit that, after all this time, Weasleys still make me want to crack jokes at their expense. I can’t help doing it. It must be part of the Malfoy genome, so it’d be deeply unfair of you to hold it against me. Besides, it might well be one of the very few things I’ve been allowed to keep from my school days; that and my smashing hairdo maybe. So I’m not ready to part with it quite yet."

His annoyance disappearing as fast as it had appeared, Harry snorted, "Yep. That was actually the first thing I noticed when I saw you at King’s Cross. You still have that same poncey brushing, albeit with a lot less hair."

"I happen to think it's a better option than letting your hair develop into a mildly terrifying form of wildlife. After all this time, I find it appalling that you have yet to master the combing spell."

"Well, I like my unkempt hair. I’ve been told it makes me look younger."

"At the risk of shattering your delusions, I feel it my duty to tell you that no, it does not make you look younger. I wonder who could have told you such outlandish lies. One of your many groupies probably. It just makes you look more...well, how shall I put it...well, more like you, I suppose."

As an afterthought, Draco added with a pleasant smile, "There could be worse results I guess. But still, you really should let go of any hopes that your hair acts like some sort of eternal youth potion. It obviously does not. Otherwise, we would all wear rat nests on the top of our heads... and that thought is too awful to contemplate."


End file.
